


Shame on Me

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Short as hell, just me getting something out of my system, unrequited sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall has a problem and sometimes it ends up sleeping next to him. And it's all the damned Inquisitor's fault. All of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame on Me

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic both applies to Blackwall putting himself down like he does and also to me for writing this shit.

Dorian rolled over in his sleep, and Blackwall scoffed and scooted away when his back brushed his thigh. His eyes drifted sideways to the other man’s face. The soft, delicate, smooth features. Styled hair, though slightly sullied now by sweat and the press of the pillow. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and his eyes were tightly shut, as if in some kind of distress. Blackwall assumed he was dreaming

The Inquisitor should have stopped these tent-sharing rotations when they started. They were ill-advised by everyone but himself but he selfishly insisted they remain in play. Something about fairness but they all knew he really just wanted to switch off between having private time with everyone. Those closest to him agreed that he was partially under the impression that he was their mother.

Sharing with the Inquisitor himself was tolerable at best— he was a less fun version of Sera that didn’t enjoy talking about women, but he meant well. He seemed to want to be friends but Blackwall was sure it was out of pity. They had nothing in common. Well… no, they had one thing in common. But it was part of why Blackwall resented him.

Sharing with Cassandra had been an honor at first, but now that his true past was out of the bag, it was terrifying. He’d requested to skip that rotation, but it seemed the Inquisitor would be damned before giving up his rotation with Dorian.

But sharing with Dorian had by far become the worst. Not because the ill-feelings he’d had toward Dorian lingered strongly. He was sure that Dorian resented him more at this point— just like everyone else in the Inquisition did. But for the most part their interaction was friendly these days, strangely understanding. If there were arguments, they were playful

But, no one could have convinced Blackwall a month ago that sharing a damn tent with someone could lead to these kinds of thoughts and feelings. He never would have let it happen.

Not that it mattered now, it was far too late. You can’t very well find your way back when you’ve already pictured yourself in a passionate kiss with the other person. Not to mention, the fantasies of your hands on his body, touching him in all those forbidden places while he’s beneath you, breathing heavy against your ear, asking for more.

Blackwall swallowed, and his eyes shifted to Dorian again. He was still asleep. Of course he was. This wasn’t the time for Blackwall to start worrying about whether or not mages could enchant themselves to read minds and then pretend to be asleep.

It was a surprisingly warm night, and Blackwall was sure Dorian was appreciative of that. He didn’t exactly make the decision sleep in the nude, which was admittedly disappointing, but he was stripped down to his personal minimum. And that didn’t include any kind of shirt.

The blanket was covering less and less every time he shifted, and he seemed to be doing a lot of shifting. He must’ve been having a nightmare, or…

An appreciative sigh escaped Dorian’s lips, and his hips twitched in a suggestive way. Blackwall’s face grew hot.

Not a nightmare, then.

A low groan, and Blackwall was on his feet in an instant. He had to leave—

“Amatus, please…” The desperate, asking whispered words escaped Dorian’s lips in a sighed breath, but they were clear. Blackwall hurried to the exit of the tent. This was too much. 

He opened the flap, and drops of water assaulted his nose and face. It was pouring rain out there. He wasn’t about to let himself be kicked out of his own tent into the rain because of this nonsense that was happening in his head.

He could wake Dorian up! That would do just as well. And then Dorian could shut up, go back to sleep, and have a normal dream.

Quickly, he hit his knees on his mat, grabbed his pillow, and smacked Dorian hard in the face with it.

“Wake up.” He barked. He hit Dorian again, just for good measure.

“Fasta vass!” Dorian woke up with a start, sitting up immediately. He looked confused and irritated at first, and then looked at Blackwall, and the tell-tale pillow in his hand.

“What the hell!” He barked. His lips were sleep-swollen and his hair was a mess from all the tossing.

“You were having a nightmare.” Blackwall justified.

Dorian scowled. “That wasn’t a nightmare, you oaf.” He yanked his blanket back over himself, grumbling a series of curses in Tevene before going back to sleep.

Likely to his own disappointment, his sleep was still and silent now.

Blackwall relaxed, thinking maybe now he’d go to sleep. There was no sense thinking about him, or considering anything, when he was so clearly and permanently taken by someone else. Someone greater, higher, and without all the baggage.

The flap to the tent was still open, and through tired, worn eyes he watched the rain fall inside. He was vaguely pleased Dorian hadn’t noticed, or he would have complained.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this whole concept might go in my own personal canon but it's not anywhere I'm not mildly ashamed of and sad about. I want Blackwall to be happy and this is what I barf up?


End file.
